


Divebomb

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet: 900 [13]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 20:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18198797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. Not a total bombout, but close.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many ideas, so little continuity.
> 
> #whocares

“Fuh-kin-hell, man… do you - bring the rain, or does it just - follow ya around?”

Looking straight ahead, blinking said rain out of his eyes (resisting the very tempting urge to shake it off), Noah stopped as the man under his arm almost took another stumble flat onto his overly-drunk face. Gripping the hoodie under it’s sleeve, he flattened his other hand against Reed’s collarbone. Keeping their balance was key to getting out of here.

If they could manage it, the RK900 really didn’t want mud to adorn his jacket any more than human blood already was. His look had suffered enough damage for one night.

“You don’t have any more pertinent questions for me, Detective?”

“Nah… I just - wanna know. Fuck, always around you… how did they do that?” Gavin rolled his eyes up to look at (and to some extent past) him, before squinting and looking back down at the ground, seemingly concentrating with the steps. “They know the weather?”

With only a bemused blink, Noah paid attention to better matching his strides to Reed’s. He could multitask.

“It’s coincidence, I’m afraid. Nothing more.”

“Aw… shit. But it's like - Noah.” Gavin let out a huff of some kind of laughter, tilting his head back up, eyes closed as he swayed for a moment. “Y’know? The flood and shit. Fits, right?”

Had he known Detroit was due to see an above-average amount of rainfall the following spring, perhaps he would have picked differently. Life was imitating art, it seemed, at his expense.

Which was fine - water always dried off.

Whereas blood didn’t wash out so easily.

“If you say so, Detective.” Pausing, letting his partner sway only a moment, he resumed guiding him forward. Their sound of shoes making hollow splashes echoed along the alleyway, not quite muffled by the rain in itself. “Were it not raining, I’m certain we would have found you sooner.”

“Nah… fuck, no, I wasn't - you weren't supposed to come.” Gavin groaned, stopping for a second to halfheartedly glare at Noah, before being dragged along without any more protest. “Picked it for a-a reason, asshole. Idiot…”

That much was clear. And in truth, Noah would have been none the wiser if Officer Chen hadn’t said anything. His place was at Central Station, day and night, unless circumstances arose in which his human partner required assistance.

This counted as such.

“It’s fortunate I did, all the same. That altercation was only bound to get more physical. Or else you would be being wheeled out on a gurney.”

“N-no, woulda been fuckin’ _him_!” As if to illustrate how ridiculous such a statement was, Gavin stumbled, leaning heavily onto Noah for a second. “Coulda handled it.”

His equilibrium was clearly not what he thought. Somewhere in this swimming vision, it was the rest of the alley swaying back and forth like a landlocked ocean.

Noah stopped walking long enough to readjust his grip. Logic said there was no use talking to Gavin right now. In a way, the egregious amount of alcohol the human had consumed effectively replaced him with an even more stubborn (and dare say dumber) version of himself.

Considering the watery, bloodshot eyes, the red welts adorning his chin and one cheek, plus a scattering of shallow cuts where a cheap bar mug had met its end, Gavin no longer resembled Detective Reed in any professional sense. It would be better for the sake of this encounter if his ‘rescuer’ switched gears.

“You _are_ aware you’re bleeding, yes?”

“Hmm?” Gavin mumbled, bringing one hand up to clumsily wipe at his face, letting out another noise of surprise when his hand evidently came back wet from blood. It stood out a few shades darker than the water they were already soaked by. “...Oh. A - bit. Shoulda seen him, though.”

Noah had. Not soon would he forget the sight of his partner locked in battle with an opponent at least five inches taller and outweighing him by sixty pounds. The sign on the front door (typically) barred androids from the premises. Contemplating whether to abide by it or not, the RK900 was decided at the first drunken yowl - closely followed by a crash of a table upturning - he heard go off from inside.

After a short lived scuffle, some lost feathers, and assurances CyberLife would compensate the owner all the property damage (plus Gavin’s outstanding tab), they had made their escape.

Somehow, Noah had the feeling this was one experience he had over Connor. Had they yet been called upon to drag Lieutenant Anderson out of similar circumstances?

With only the barest of eyerolls, Noah gave a tug before attempting to resume their walk. “I suppose that pales, compared to being shot, but honestly - I thought you preferred to drink alone.”

Less of a danger to himself and to others that way.

“I do… but my f-fucking _phone,_ why do people keep callin’?” Gavin complained, letting himself be coaxed into moving, half leaning against his interventionist. “Don't even… know how he got m'number. I didn't give it.”

The enigmatic mention of _he_ may have been lost on anyone not knowing better. Given his near-exclusive education in Reed’s past, Noah instantly figured who it was. That he quietly hacked into said phone for a look at its call history only confirmed it.

Opting not to mention it, the android leaned unnecessarily close and inhaled through his nose. Within seconds, his sensors deduced the blood alcohol level Gavin was currently sporting.

“I’ll call you a cab, Detective, and arrange for your car to be brought back to Warrendale. You’re in no state to drive.”

“Eh… oh-kay. Wasn't gonna drive anyways.” Looking up at him again, Gavin let out a bit of laughter at whatever he was thinking about. “Pfft, don't you know I'm a cop? I wouldn't do that.”

Eyes veering forward, Noah didn’t so much as humor him with a blink. Again, the fact he was referring to this drunken shamble as a detective was purely out of professional courtesy, however off duty the task was.

Reaching the mouth of the alley (as the bar’s back exit was the only one the staff saw fit to let them use), the wind kicked up. The heavy, languid drops coating them turned into tiny, stinging missiles against bare skin.

Hiking a wing up to shield them against the draft, Noah loosened his grip. Simultaneously he tapped into the wireless traffic network, searching for an available taxi to throw a proverbial thumb up for.

Deliberately droll, he asked, “So. Do you feel like informing me as to why you went on this spontaneous bender yet?”

“Wasn't a bender, N.” Gavin muttered, tightening his own grip in retaliation to the loosened one. “You know why, I tol… told you. Fuckin’ phone call, that asshole.”

Noah was tempted to ask which one. In Gavin Reed’s mind, they constituted 95% of the world. But glibness didn’t always mesh with overindulgence in whiskey shots. So best not.

“Kamski?”

Again, it was no great mystery, once one knew the whole story. Noah suspected even he knew only an abridged version, which was more than most. Nevertheless, he put the connection aside most days in favor of maintaining whatever brand of friendship he and Gavin were developing.

But nope. Apparently today Elijah had felt a need to try and reach out. Did he think it wouldn’t result in this?

Draped over their heads like a feathery tarp, Noah readjusted his wing to better let the rain slide off of it. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck, dude, like… uh… a couple hours ago?” Gavin waved his hand, clearly not remembering the exact time the call had taken place. “I dunno. Was already out the door before I cou-could even hang up on his ass.”

“Meaning, you answered.” Finding a likely taxi only some two blocks away, Noah flagged its fare program with coordinates to find them at. “What was he calling on account of?”

“Jus’ me, I dunno, man. Fuckin’ knew all my business, somehow, the bastard. My gunshot, the… the fuckin’ death. Said he ‘gave me time’ before callin’.” At that, Gavin grit his teeth, shaking his head as he did so. “Wanted to talk, _catch_ up. Fuck that.”

Listening half to that, half to the patter of raindrops over their heads, Noah looked at the bruised-up hands still gripping onto him - almost unreasonably tight. He wasn’t being held onto simply as a means of physical balance.

“I gather you told him as much.”

It would have made for a great proverbial journal entry - _dear diary, told the former CEO of CyberLife to fuck off after he had the gall to try and call me. It felt nice. P.S. he’s my estranged, older half brother who hasn’t spoken to me but three times in our lives, so yes, it was more than justified._

Journal keeping was supposed to be cathartic like that. Perhaps Reed ought to consider taking it up.

“Yuh-hep! Told him to fuck off, no-not call me ever fuckin’ again. Bastard'll try again, said as much. ‘I can tell you aren't ready’ - no _shit!_ ”

Growing more flustered and agitated with every word, Gavin almost let go. He tended to ‘talk with’ his hands at his most frenetic moments. Recounting this story certainly qualified as one.

Noah tightened his grip before the man could lurch and fall right into the filth-ridden gutter they stood in front of. “And from - that, you immediately decided alcohol was what you needed?”

Admittedly, he felt a slight bit of scorn. Even if his partner hadn’t thought to call him in the event of such a development, the fact he wasn’t even considered beyond “bah, plastic can’t be bothered” almost hurt. Was it not his function to assist? The professional/personal line had been crossed between them some time ago.

“I mean… yeah. I th-thought we established my poor decisions were a pattern.” Letting go of him with one hand, Gavin waved it off, as if his decision wasn't at all concerning or aggravating in the slightest. “That qualified for a… bad decision.”

The thought to lecture him came and went. If Gavin was aware enough this was a bad call, he already knew there were better ways to manage his reactions. To remind him of it would only be needlessly repetitive.

“So long as you know,” Noah remarked, glancing sideways as he saw headlights turn the corner just up the street. “Next time, consider calling me.”

It had been warranted on at least one occasion, when Colby had staged a disappearance seemingly for the express purpose of sending his owner into a panic. Then again, Gavin had thought to call Tina Chen first in said instance. The rapport wasn’t as ‘strong’ a few months prior, but Noah liked to think he had steadily proven his worth there in the time since.

Just how long was Gavin going to prove stubborn about sticking to his bad habits?

“Eh… but then - you'll stop me.” Glaring up at him once again, Gavin sighed, before raising his hand up to block his vision from the light. “But… fine. What's this?”

Transportation.

Rethinking that and how it wouldn’t go over so pleasantly, Noah picked something more appropriately sardonic: “Your chariot, sir.”

Retaining a sense of humor was key.

“Oh…” Trailing off, he stumbled closer to the soon-arriving taxi, half dragging, half forcing Noah to follow him. “Okay. Gotta go home.”

Honestly? Only now was it just occurring to him? According to the duty roster, he was expected at Central by 8 AM the following-

Make that, five hours from now.

Besides the collection of new gouges, the man would be sporting some very telltale bags under his eyes. Even if it was, to some extent, part of his usual appearance, coffee would only sustain coherent conversation so long.

Reminding himself to remain cool, to not be so critical, Noah waited until the cab had slid to a stop before them. It’s clamshell doors parted with a heavy click, revealing a warm dry interior.

“The fare has been paid in advance,” the android relayed, unlooping the arm situated around his back. “It’ll see you back to Warrendale.”

The unspoken third of that message lingered in the empty space between them and the cabin.

Noah wouldn’t impose. He had done enough inadvertent damage. He was sure the fracas at the bar would somehow find its way into the media. Social networking being what it was, coupled with Gavin Reed’s unmistakable resemblance to a certain other reclusive millionaire/visionary, meant it wouldn’t stay unheard of for long. Add to this the unexpected climax of an android breaking segregational rules to defend him - the fuse was lit.

Question was, what kind of firecracker was going to be set off?

“Whoa, whoa - hey, where you think you're goin’?” Gavin demanded, clumsily grabbing for him again, at first missing, before getting his shoulder. He gave a tug, before raising an eyebrow. “Fuck, man. You ain't - you ain't gonna leave me, idiot. C'mon, we're goin’ to my place.”

“Are we?” Unable to help a moment of skepticism, Noah frowned. The rain had only managed to wash so much blood off his partner’s face and knuckles. Smeared, bloody prints now decorated his shoulder like gruesome finger paint. He refrained from commenting on it, just barely.

“Uh, yeah? I don't wanna fuckin’ choke on my own vomit, if I throw up,” Gavin grumbled, tugging on him to try and get into the taxi. “Stop it. Come on.”

For a moment, Noah contemplated simply walking away. He was well within his program to, given there were no case-related reasons he see this train wreck through to its burning end. But as whatever kind of friend he was aspiring to be, that would also feel like a colossal step backwards. Gavin hadn’t turned him away after his autopilot episode. Time to repay the favor.

The only real problem were his wings - all twelve feet of them. They only collapsed so far to save space. The dimensions of the cab’s interior would accommodate both of them, but only just. _That_ was going to hurt.

Knowing he sent the detective home only for him to inadvertently find a means to die would hurt worse.

“If you say so, Detective.” Ducking low to avoid bumping into the cab’s roof, half bent over at the waist, he crawled inside as directed.

However ungainly and undignified it made him look, Reed was the only one around to see it. And they were adept at keeping each other’s secrets.

——-

Face half pressed into the window of the taxi, Gavin couldn't help but groan again. Fuck, he should really move - at this rate, he was just irritating his already-fucked-up skin, besides making a mess of the glass. But on the other hand, the coolness was very welcome, as opposed to the beginnings of a headache he was feeling.

Well, that was a bad idea. He knew that, plain and simple. But what else was he supposed to do? Unlike the other time he got a bad phone call, Gavin didn't feel any bit little sorry or depressed, just angry that the bastard had the nerve to contact him.

And for fucking what? _No,_ Elijah - he wasn't just ready to kindle some relationship that was never there in the first place. It wasn't gonna happen until it was on his terms, no matter how much the dude begged and pleaded and tried.

Whatever. He had more important things to think about - mainly, how he was gonna get to his apartment, and how to not fuck things up even more with Noah. It didn't seem to be any fun for the android, having to take him home, but fuck it. Better than him helplessly trying to unlock his place a million times before simply falling asleep by the door.

The android could help him hack in as needed.

“Ugh, dude… the world is spinnin’.” Gavin complained, peeling his face off of the window enough to grimace at Noah. “I'm gonna hate myself tomorrow.”

Staring straight ahead, half wrapped up in a shroud of his curled-in wings, his partner only favored that with the barest of glances. No, he wasn’t complaining outright about being summoned to play wingman. But the more minimal his reactions, the more annoyed he truly seemed.

Fucking android.

“Are you nauseous, Detective? I can direct the taxi to drive slower.”

As if what speed it took the turns at would settle his tortured stomach any great deal.

“I'm fuckin’ fine, don't.” Rolling his eyes, Gavin returned to the window with a huff. Shit, maybe he should have just taken his chances with the door, especially if this was just gonna piss Noah off so much. He didn’t have to hold up a sign to indicate how aggravating he found this. “We there yet?”

“Warrendale is at least ten minutes away,” Noah droned, but at least they were spared the atypical ETA reply. “At this current speed.”

“Ugh… can we go faster?” Pressing his hand up again his forehead, as if that could somehow relieve the pressure, Gavin groaned again. “I don’ care at this point, dude.”

He thought he heard a soft beep. The dashboard chimed back. With a decided smoothness, the cab revved up its engine - a bare whisper compared to his former Camaro and her purring powerhouse.

Shit, now he was longing for his car, of all things.

Noah dismissed the silence with an updated itinerary: “Eight minutes, and counting.”

“Ugh… shoulda picked a closer fuckin’ bar.”

“In the event you had, would you see this night going any differently?”

“...Shut up.” Instead of turning his head to look back at him, Gavin attempted to simply roll his eyes back, before giving up with a huff. “Probably not. But at least this part woulda been shorter.”

Again, the android seemed to refrain from bringing up anything along the lines of “you asked for me to stay”. Maybe he had a smidge of sympathy rotating around in between all those lines of code. But right now he didn’t seem much more inviting than a truancy officer from the foster care agency.

_What? Oh, Gavin ran away again? Sic ‘im. And phone the next family on the list while you’re at it._

Fucking Eli. The day had been going perfectly not-fine until he caved to the wild impulse to reach out and call.

“Admittedly… I did think it odd Officer Chen just so happened to know you were out.” Pause. “In hindsight, it isn’t.”

Of course not. Elijah had feelers everywhere in this city, including within the DPD. He knew everything and everyone’s associations, at least on a surface level. He just didn’t waltz around like Javier Sindino - currying favors and stirring the pot so that the dough rises the way he wanted. His was more the “poke the bear, see what happens” style of manipulation.

Reaching out to Tina was another such poke.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he muttered, shaking his head for lack of any other, angrier, reaction. That would take way too much energy right now. “Can't just - come into my life, not now. Not his choice.”

“You don’t think it might be for the better?”

“Uh… what? _No!_ ” Whipping back around so fast he could have gotten fucking whiplash, Gavin glared at the android. There was no way in hell that what Elijah did was a good thing, not now, not ever. “How would this be for the fuckin’ better?”

Nonplussed by the outburst, Noah merely raised an eyebrow. Or maybe it was the reverb from the whiskey making him look that way.

“Imagine if you had kept talking. Would we be here now?”

Great. He was veering into amateur therapist mode again.

“Ugh, I dunno, I would be in worse shape, or arrested for tryin’ to fucking murder him. We don't _have_ a relationship, okay? I don't need one with him by now. I don't care if he does.”

“Well… he must have thought there would be no harm in trying. He figured wrong upon hearing your reaction, then called Officer Chen, who in turn called me.”

So, what, that was the Kamski way of looking out for your own - hedging bets with plasticized insurance policies?

Noah always seemed to think problems needed fixing. He had yet to learn when things were better off left broken. Like his inherently-fractured tribe dynamic. Emilia and Vernon were his own kind of estranged sibling figures. He knew less about trying to relate to them than he did Connor, seemingly.

Why mend anything to do with that? Why not just leave it alone?

“So I didn't kill myself in a bar fight. Great. Listen, I didn't - fuckin’ go through what I went for shit to be just fine between us, okay?” It wasn't fair, having to think about all this right now, but Gavin probably brought it upon himself in some roundabout way. Sure, at some point he had desperately wanted to know his brother, but that ship sailed years ago. “I don't have to be ready.”

“No.” Encouragement that he was, however understated, Noah didn’t mince words there. “And he understands that now. He’s left the next move up to you.”

“Fine, fine. Long as he doesn't fuckin’ call again soon, I'll consider…” Consider what? It wasn't exactly like he wanted to just call Elijah up, start talking to him - ‘hey, how's your day been? Sorry for cussing you out last time, you give me bad feelings’ - no, it would take a bit more than that. “Somethin’. I dunno. Maybe talk to him some fuckin’ time.”

“You said the last time was, what, well over a decade ago?” Noah asked, sounding less genuinely curious and more sincere. However faked it was, he nailed the tone. “And it was under - similar circumstances.”

Similar circumstances - politically-correct speak for ‘death in the family, my side, not yours’.

“Uh… yeah, that time. Not like I wasn't gonna show up…” Trailing off again, Gavin winced at the memory of that fucking funeral. “Fuckin’ awful. Kinda turned me off from ever tryin’ to rekindle that shit, that's for sure.”

Tactfully, Noah picked another line of conversation from there onward. “You can’t blame him for being - reminded. Neither of you live in a vacuum.”

“I ain't - blamin’ him!” Which was a lie. He very much was, and for what? Simply trying to connect with him, after giving him time? Fuck. He really didn't wanna start thinking about all the ways his thinking was wrong, flawed for no reason other than fear of the unknown. “It's hard, okay? I'm not - urgh. Maybe sometime, I dunno.”

“Sometime, but not right now.” Waiting as the cab rolled through an intersection and then turned, the familiar red-brick front of Warrendale Center drew close. Even in the rain it was unmistakable. “I understand.”

Did he? Douche was barely five months old, going on six. He didn’t know what it was to live this way for years.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Fuck, man, it's just a lot to take in. Didn't really wanna deal with more shit right now.”

The taxi slid to a stop. It’s MPH reader clicked down to zero.

“Noted.” Considering the open doors, and the short staircase leading up to the complex’s main entrance, Noah graced him with one of those queer little half smiles. “Shall I walk you in?”

Fucker. Now he was laying the bad-prom-night comparison on thick, and very much deliberately. Were he more sober, Gavin could have found it annoying if not a little endearing.

“ _Yes_ , asshole. Not really feelin’ the whole fuckin’ stumble to my door and pass out in the hallway routine, not tonight.” He couldn't find it in him to say the words with any real venom, not when the android had been so fucking accommodating already.

However grating this experience proved, what little Noah was doing was still leagues more than most people ever bothered to throughout his sad excuse of a life. That he could go about it with a sarcastic, barely-there smile was icing on the cake.

Anything that made him seem more like a person helping of their own volition, rather than just a machine sent to (seemingly) save Reed from himself, was a step in the right direction. He could claim it was the company that built him all he wanted.

Indirectly, Elijah may as well have pressed the ASSEMBLE button himself.

Pressing another such button to open the doors on his side of the compartment, the android stepped out and circled the idling vehicle to meet him on the other side. Without prompting, he held out a hand and simultaneously arched a wing overhead like an umbrella.

“Whenever you’re ready, Detective.”

Goddamn picture-perfect chauffeur that he was. All he needed to do was a half bow.

And to get the blood out of his jacket. It was a touch unsightly.

Despite the pain in his head, Gavin scoffed and smirked anyway.

_Whenever - and he’d stand there all night if I asked him to. Best pal ever._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five minutes later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Bonus semi-crack chapter. Because.

All told, Warrendale Center was only twenty stories high. It’s elevators were in acceptable working order even if they weren’t without the occasional stalling issue. Standing in one such car as it ascended smoothly, watching the numbers above the door flash in sequential order, one wouldn’t think anything could go wrong.

Reaching level fourteen, Gavin Reed’s decision to lean against the doors for stability proved to be a foolish decision.

Before he could slump out onto the hallway floor, Noah grabbed his arm. “Honestly, Detective, you didn’t drink _that_ much.”

(Indeed, the tab was only pricey because Reed had foolishly ordered the most expensive of brands.)

“You don’ know! It was… a shitload.” Half trailing off, before regaining his apparent train of thought, Gavin decided to lean the other way - straight into Noah. “Too much. Ugh, I don’ feel good.”

And the taxi ride had done nothing to help that state of affairs.

Hesitating only long enough to make sure the man’s knees hadn’t given out, Noah resigned himself to grabbing his partner underneath the shoulders with one arm. With a few unsteady steps, they managed to clear the threshold without tripping. “Keep your nausea in check until we reach the door, at least.”

Unreasonable as it was to try and reason with a drunk, it didn’t stop him from trying.

“Ugh… I dunno, I'm tryin’, but the room is spinnin’... how are you standing so - so straight? Woah…” Trailing off again, Gavin craned his neck up in drunk wonderment at the ‘shocking’ feat Noah was pulling off. “We're not on a boat. But it's rocking!”

“Come _on_.” Deciding insistence was the only way they would get anywhere, Noah pulled and took one longer pace forward, half dragging the policeman along for the ride. The door they wanted as at least three apartment welcome mats away. “Nothing’s rocking. We’re on solid ground.”

“Fuck, maybe you are, but na-not me.” Stumbling after him, Gavin hissed as he struggled to find his balance, but managed to keep himself up with Noah's help. He was tilting dramatically to one side, but still upright, at least. “I wanna lay down… now.”

By the way he was continually leaning forward, intent on completing his fall, that seemed to be true.

“Not - _yet_ . Stand up.” Wrenching with both hands, Noah ignored the addled yell of outrage the action drew out. “We’re nearly there. But unless you want me to _drag_ you the last ten feet - ”

“No!” Letting out a yowl, Gavin stumbled into him, nearly falling over himself, before he simply gave up the fight and let himself be held up. “No… no. I'll walk, lemme go…”

Easier said than done. One didn’t need to know what drunkenness felt like to appreciate just how uncoordinated it made basic motor controls.

“Quit struggling. Please.” Leading him on, careful to keep them in the center of the hallway and not pitching too far to either side, Noah kept his voice down, lest it draw any curious eyes and ears out of the surrounding units. “And be _quieter_ , for that matter. You’ve made enough of a scene for one night.”

“Agh! Lemme walk, we're almost there, look!” Trying to apparently point for his door, Gavin missed it, instead pointing toward a bare wall. “Close… fuck. I wanna sleep. Long fuckin’ night, N… too much. Open the door?”

Somehow, that patchy, grumbling comment made sense.

Hauling him along the last full measure of the distance, Noah didn’t bother waiting for the man to unlock the door via fingerprint ID. One hacking touch later, he twisted the doorknob to shove it open.

“You can make it to the couch, at least. Sleeping on the floor is hardly sanitary.”

(And in the apartment itself, even less so. The hidden filth of these carpets was better left undescribed.)

“Ohh… okay. Fine. I'll go to - the couch.” Trudging forward, Gavin almost stumbled over his own feet, taking a knee for a moment before staggering back up. Clearly not caring any longer, he sank torso first onto the couch, face pressed into the cushions. “Eh… okay. Fuckin’ - on it.”

A half victory, at best, in that halfway-there position.

Declining the suggestion to (yet) help him up the rest of the way, Noah closed the door (ensuring a relatively private humiliation to come) and went for the kitchenette corner. There, the cylindrical steel trash can provided a convenient receptacle.

Because he would be damned if he was going to mop vomit from this floor.

Colby, lounging on the counter’s edge, blinked lazily at all the new ruckus that had found its way back home. Otherwise, he continued to doze, tailtip flicking back and forth.

“Shall I remove your shoes, while we’re at it?”

“Urgh… no. I can.” Face tilted far enough to speak without being muffled, Gavin groaned, before flipping himself over. Clumsily reaching down, he tugged on one shoe, letting out a grunt of frustration when it didn't budge. “Maybe. Argh. Not fun, fuck. My face fuckin’ hurts, Noah!”

Oh, right. The cuts. A beer bottle being smashed on one’s cheekbone would do that. Even without the lacerations, he would be sporting a nice, dark bruise by sunup.

“Don’t move. Let me find your first aid kit.” Setting the can down beside the couch, Noah stopped only to shove the man’s shoulder back, tilting him more on balance in the process. “And leave your shoes on.”

One task after another, he ought to be flexible enough to salvage this wreck of a person - tentatively dubbed his friend.

Letting out a groan, Gavin slumped back again, legs awkwardly up in the air as he did so, body resting more on the cushion rather than the back of the couch. The armrest could almost serve as a pillow. “Okay. Okay! In… somewhere. My fuckin’ bathroom? Maybe?”

 _No. It was under your bed in a duffel bag - of course, the_ bathroom _._

Taking the obvious suggestion as just that, obvious, Noah found said plastic box in the cabinet above the sink. Balancing it across the chipped basin’s corner, he flipped the latches open to examine the contents.

Calculating how many bandages it would take to bind the cuts, he heard a solid _thump_ emanate from the living room floor not a minute later.

“ _Owww!”_ A loud yell came from where Gavin obviously was, feeling the effects of whatever fall he took. “Fuckin’ - argh! Noah!”

Snapping the kit shut again, he trekked back out to find exactly what one might expect - a kicked-over trash can, a skewed coffee table, and Gavin Reed, curled up on the floor, clutching his knee.

“I advised you not to move.”

“M'cat… he was fuckin’ looking at me. I couldn't _not_ do anything! It hurts, fuck… ugh.” Looking up at him, his face turned from pained to confused for a moment, before turning to nauseous. His skin took on a veritable tinge of green. “Oh - Noah, fuck - ”

Grabbing the tipped can, Noah reacted a second too late. The carpet beside the coffee table took the first and worst round of regurgitated alcohol. Hooking an arm around the man’s side, grabbing his opposite shoulder from behind, half holding him up, all he could do was ensure Gavin didn’t fall facefirst into this hacked-up puddle.

Tonight had been momentous (and trying) enough without that added misfortune.

Colby continued to doze, entirely unaffected, as his owner gave one last coughing heave.

Still kneeling over his ‘patient’, unbothered as he was by the pungent, noxious mix of whiskey and stomach acid, Noah frowned, unseen, at the new mess before them.

“Better out than in, they say?”

“Ugh… fuck, I guess.” Leaning back from it more after the last cough came out, Gavin frowned at the new mess on his carpet, before one hand wandered up to brush against the cuts on his face. “Nothin’ can fuckin’ - do now, I guess… d'you have that bandage shit?”

Now there was a redundant question not worth answering yet. “Get up. …Sit down.” Half manhandling than counting on his friend to listen to these commands, Noah pulled him up to sit on the far end of the couch. Yes, the carpet now smelled positively dank. But he could only see to one job at a time.

Fishing some towelettes out of the kit, he took another look at the grisly collection of cuts and gouges. Delicately, he wiped away the spittle adorning Reed’s lips and chin. “Do you still feel queasy? This is going to sting.”

“No… ugh…” Seemingly going back on his own word in a second, Gavin doubled over with a gag, one hand automatically flying to his mouth, before shaking his head. It was clear that he was about to go for a round two, with whatever was left in his stomach.

So much for that plan. Tossing the towelette aside, manners and gentleness be damned, Noah dragged the reeling man back to his feet. “Bathtub, then. Now.” Whatever damage was already done, they need not add to it. The bathroom was the optimal place to contain this would-be accident.

The taxi ride ultimately had made Reed some kind of carsick.

Shouldering the door aside, knowing the tub sat only about three feet to the right, Noah all but threw the plastic curtain out of the way. The rings gave a breathy screech, as if they were unhappy with being moved.

The echoing sound of torturous dry heaving into the porcelain space was worse. Collapsing onto his knees, all coordination virtually lost, Gavin almost pitched himself in headfirst.

Deciding a concussion was better off avoided, Noah grabbed the back of his partner’s collar to bring the fall up short.

_And I thought we exhausted our dramatics back at the bar._

Groaning against him, Gavin slumped again once the spell was over, grimacing at the sensation of what he had just put himself through. There would be no more walking without any support for him - not that he had done much travel under his own steam before.

But as far as tonight went, he seemed done for.

“Agh, fuck. No… change my mind, Noah. Wanna sleep, this shit is _too_ much.” Closing his eyes, sagging forward, it almost seemed like he was going to sleep right then and there, until he spoke again. “Wanna go to my bed.”

Noah frowned. Advisable as that sounded, there was still the matter of first aid.

Using only a slight push, he managed to keep Reed from stumbling back up, half propping him against the bathtub, one arm draped inside. “Sit. You’re not going anywhere until those cuts have been cleaned. … _Stay_ , please. You’ve done enough harm to yourself already.”

“Eh… only because you asked.” Rolling his eyes, Gavin kept his position, hand braced against the inside of the tub to help him stay steady. “And then I'm going to fuckin’ sleep.”

“If no one else will tell you…” Leaving the remark unfinished, Noah retrieved the box from the table (tacitly ignoring the irony of bringing the kit back to where he had found it) and set it up atop the bathroom counter. Besides the towelettes, he grabbed the gauze, antiseptic salve, and cotton balls. Thankfully none of the facial lacerations were severe enough to warrant stitches.

Eyes blinking shut at longer and longer intervals, Gavin was already nodding off by the time Noah crouched down beside him. With a wet washcloth, he started wiping away the dried blood and fresh, acidic bile.

“I could run your head under the faucet. But after all the indignity you’ve already been through… this method is less problematic.”

“Hmm… okay. This is - better.” Half mumbling, Gavin turned his head to face Noah more fully, one eye completely shut, the other half open to look at him occasionally. “Not as bad.”

As it turned out, the rain hadn’t washed all the stains away. Dabbing away the last few caked-on streaks, the ragged cuts were revealed in their savage glory. Near-microscopic shards of glass had embedded themselves in the torn tissue.

Declining to mention it, knowing how much Gavi would appreciate not hearing about his new collection of glass splinters, Noah set the rag aside. “You have enough scarring. I suppose one or two more wouldn’t be a bother.” Applying ointment to one such gauze, he taped it across the gash at the corner of Reed’s mouth. “But this is the worst of them. Provided your nausea has passed, I would avoid shouting or yawning excessively over the next few days.”

“They'll look fuckin’ - badass.” Wincing against the feeling, Gavin turned his head to try and escape it for a moment, before giving up with a sigh. He was the one who asked before, in the first place. “More for the - collection.”

“Hm. You ever consider something less… destructive? Some humans collect rocks, or coins, or stamps.”

Noah knew better than to expect a serious answer to that comment.

_“Collect tidbits like some closeted nerd?”_

Oh, no, not this dumbass of a badass. He wasn’t materialistic enough to warrant it. Notches on a belt transcribing how many scuffles he had been in - that was more Reed’s brand.

“Pfft! Rocks? Get real. What am I, eight, or ninety? Nah.” Pointing to the scar on his nose, Gavin smiled at him, lopsided as it was. “More badass. Maybe destructive, but they ain't always my fault…”

Holding the bandage in place, ascertaining it wouldn’t peel itself off with the change in expression, Noah didn’t smile back. “Such as this one?” With his free hand, he tapped on the detective’s nose, eliciting a reflexive blink. “What’s the story there?”

“Uh… dunno, somethin’.” Clearly evading the question, Gavin shrugged, eyes - open and shut - averted as he did so. Drunk him still seemed to at least have enough of a hold on himself to not reveal that. “It's cool lookin’, though.”

So no, no story on that.

Yet.

“But not if one knows the context of it, I gather?” Watching the words sail over his patient’s head, half passed-out as Gavin was, Noah pressed and smoothed the bandage over with one fingertip. He began preparing the next bit of gauze, eying the scrapes on the stubble-covered cheek above. “Like how explaining a joke robs it of all humor.”

“I guess… it's more badass if you think I won or some shit, right?” Giving a half hearted shrug, Gavin's other eye closed, almost ready to entirely drift off into sleep. “Not quite as cool when you learn the real story behind shit like that.”

“I suppose. Then my designers are either twice as vain or were half as confident with the dermal projection adjustments they made to hide my own.”

It sounded like a casual enough admission. Comparing the inherent differences between man and android once again, at least Gavin’s (presumably false) story for his facial scarring was more substantial than damaged plastimetal plating simply made to look intact. Imperfect solutions on both sides, really.

At that, Gavin turned his head back around, eyes slightly opening to look at him, however bleary and unfocused. “Mm? You mean… D’you still have those fuckin’ scars, like - beneath?”

“It’s not as ‘cool’ as it sounds.” Pausing in his ministrations, Noah pressed at the hidden button just forward of his LED. The projection rippled and peeled halfway back, revealing the furrow-scored ‘jaw’ and cheek panels below, the damage done by a ragged piece of flooring tearing its way across. “This was apparently cheaper than swapping them out.”

“Eh… still looks pretty fuckin’ cool to me. You've got like, fuckin’ hidden scars… we still match.”

Maybe he was onto something there. The techs hadn’t admitted as much at the time, only citing costs as their reasoning in refusing to repair him one-hundred percent. Noah was simply grateful to not have his wings pulled off as punishment at the time.

This, he could live with, and if Gavin was the only one who knew besides, that was acceptable.

“And at the time, I wasn’t acting any smarter than you, battling that suspect alone.” Skin washing back over the bared plates, Noah focused on applying the next bandage. “Just remember this, next time you think to go bar crawling alone.”

“Fine, fine! You can come along as fuckin’... designated driver, or some shit.” Giving a scoff at that, Gavin closed his eyes again.

And stand-in bodyguard, as needed. Anyone who could get property damages and taxi fare footed by CyberLife was worthwhile company to have on the scene.

On the contrary, Noah hoped this was enough to discourage Reed from visiting any more bars for at least a week. That would be sufficient time for him to compose another kind of intervention plan.

One that didn’t involve washing out puke from a carpet, either.

——-

Twenty minutes later, Noah stood back to admire his handiwork. From the sound of it, half napping as he was through the procedure, Reed did not approve.

“Fucker. What’d you do, tape me up like a mummy?” Already reaching to pick on the edge of one of his bandages, Gavin gave that up at the first twinge of pain. “This is - ridiculous. I can't be _that_ banged up.”

Perhaps. But too many bindings was preferable to too few.

“You haven’t looked at yourself recently.” Repacking the first aid kit, Noah stowed it back in the cabinet before offering the man a hand up. “Time for bed, then?”

Frowning at the hand, Gavin still nodded, though. “Uh, yeah, but I ain't goin’ anywhere. Gonna fuckin’ sleep in here, dude. What if I get sick again? …See? I'm thinkin’ ahead.”

With that, he promptly half-fell to one side, pushed up against the tub, clearly ready to roll over and just doze on the tiled floor. In his befuddled state, it must have looked as appealing as any bed.

As a machine who spent its time in stasis in mostly-upright positions, Noah didn’t immediately understand. Humans tended to desire comfortable surfaces on which to rest on.

Tiles were not one of these surfaces.

Hand still outstretched and unanswered, he frowned. “You’ll only wake up even sorer tomorrow.”

“Mm… maybe. Who cares, m'tired.” Argument made, and with the chaos of the night behind him, Gavin propped his chin on the edge of the tub. “Get a pillow, you’re that worried…”

Optics pivoting toward the living room before his head turned to match, the RK900 quickly rifled through his short term recollect, divvying out likely options. The bathroom floor wasn’t in as sorry a state as the rest of the apartment, but it was hardly pristine. It wouldn’t be worth dirtying a pillow over.

Not to mention why should he labor any harder to make this a pleasant experience, per se?

If Reed was going to learn anything from such a mockery, he needed an appropriate tool, just to get the message across.

There were a few possibilities in the tray by the front door.

——-

Waking up to the grungy bathroom floor really wasn't the greatest fucking feeling in the world.

But it was also his own fault. It wasn't like anyone forced him to go out and get insanely drunk, and then make a mess of his apartment.

And what the _fuck_ was this ‘pillow’ made of? Sitting up, aching just as he had been warned he would be, Gavin let out a curse under his breath when he saw what it was, and then another when he noticed Noah had draped a bath towel over him for a stand-in blanket.

Goddammit. He used a fucking _shoe,_ for a pillow? No wonder he had a pounding headache. …And all his unhabitual drinking. That hadn’t helped.

Okay.

Maybe he deserved a smelly old tennis shoe for a pillow, after the shitshow that was last night. It couldn’t be worse than the mess he had made of the living room.

And it was better than (and not too unlike) the gutter Noah had pulled him out of, either.

Dragging himself upright, Gavin glimpsed his bandaged-up face in the mirror and was reminded all the more. It didn’t matter if the job had been botched. Again, it was more than most people would have ever done for him.

_Thanks, pal. You’re the best._


End file.
